


A Piece of Eight

by Chrissy24601



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Billy is conflicted, Flint is intimidating, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, and Gates just tries to help is boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissy24601/pseuds/Chrissy24601
Summary: All that mattered little when the secret concerned Captain Flint. And that wasn’t even the worst of it…"I’m so screwed!"Billy isn't a fan of secrets. Especially not of the one he accidentally discovered when taking their latest prize. He swears not to breathe a word of it to anyone, but by the time they make landfall, he realises what he knows now changes everything. In light of this, can he even stay on the 'Walrus'?Not one to suffer fools, Mr Gates interrupts Billy's agonising, hauls him to his feet, and drags him off for some rum and a good talk. Which might be just what Billy needs... until Flint interrupts and drops the bomb that Billy feared the most.





	A Piece of Eight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Betnhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betnhe/gifts).



> Late to the party, but I needed some time to dry my eyes after S4. Also, I'm a stubborn Billy/Flint shipper and proud of it :D. Set before S1, when everything was fine and nothing hurt (too much).

“Billy here got a nasty run in with a dust devil out on the beach,” he heard Mr Gates say to whoever was tending the tavern bar. “Can we have some water, some rum and a quiet place to wash the sand from his eyes?”

“No problem.” Eleanor Guthrie herself. “Take the upstairs room. I’ll have someone bring you a wash basin and some cloth. I take you’re not going to pour the rum into his eyes?”

“Of course not!”

“Just checking. God only knows what you people call medicine.”

Mr Gates grumbled in her general direction, a sound followed by the tinkling of coins on the bar. Billy started when the hand on his upper arm steered him left. “Stairs,” Mr Gates warned him after a few steps and placed Billy’s hand on the banister.

He climbed the steps, peering between his lashes to avoid stumbling. Only when he reached the top of the stairs and the small room they lead to, did he open his eyes all the way. Blaming a dust devil for his puffy, tearful and red-rimmed eyes had been a good excuse to the men who’d seen him in this state, but cool water would be welcome nevertheless. Even if he wasn’t truly half-blinded by sand, he had cried himself raw out there on the beach all morning.

“Come on, sit down, lad,” Mr Gates urged him, gesturing at the simple table and its handful of chairs, “and let’s hear what this is all about.”

Billy flopped into the seat nearest the corner and buried his face in his hands. “Like I said before, I can’t tell you.”

“Every man is entitled to his secrets, Billy, but when I find you all alone, trying to hide from everyone while weeping like a child, I’m sure you can understand how that worries me.”

Billy peered between his fingers at the old man. “What? You think I’m insane?”

“Of course not! I think you’re very troubled over something and it would be best if you got it off your chest.”

“No use. I tried.”

Christ, how he’d tried. He’d even gone to the brothel last night, first thing after making landfall. No drink, no meal, just a straight line for the nearest woman of easy virtue and up into her bed.

“Yes, Logan mentioned that. Mighty proud he was of you, too. Said you stayed there longer than most of the men.”

“Fuck Logan,” he growled. “Waste of time and money, that was.”

He’d spend half his earning of this trip in the first two hours of her company and then stayed for another three. She’d done things to him he hadn’t even thought possible. Thank God his body had responded to her or he’d never live it down, but his mind had wandered. She’d admired him for his restraint, for not spilling himself at the first touch. Little did she know that her fat breasts and deep cunt meant nothing to him. That in his head, he’d had to conjure up a very different image before reaching a climax. He tried again, and then another time. Sheer desperation had given him the stamina, but every time he finally found release, it was to the same image of piercing eyes over a sardonic grin.

_I’m screwed!_

A serving wench came up carrying a tray with the rum, water and cloth that Ms Guthrie had promised. Gates sat in silence until she had gone. Then he took a deep breath.

“All righty then. So maybe the ladies didn’t quite manage to ease the obvious tension you’re under. But you have to admit, this is very unlike you. You’re normally the easy-going type. Not at all one to pent up frustrations like this.”

Of course not, since he’d never been under this kind of stress before! Stress of having accidentally discovered a terrible, dark secret that might well cost him his life. He had no intention of divulging it to anyone, even at gunpoint, and its source couldn’t squeal anymore. But all that mattered little when the secret concerned Captain Flint.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it…

_I’m so screwed!_

Gates folded the cloth, poured some water on it and handed the drenched thing to Billy. “You’ve been a bit tetchy since we took that prize the other day.”

 _Oh God. Here it comes_. Billy wished pressing the cool compress to his face could make him invisible.

“They folded without a fight,” the quartermaster pressed on, “but when you came up after searching the aft hold, your sword was bloodied and you were looking a bit dazed. I don’t think a lot of men noticed, and I certainly didn’t mention it to the captain, but…” Gates leaned forward. “Billy, are you _sure_ nothing went _wrong_ down there?”

“I told you before; some idiot had gone into hiding and pulled a knife on me in the semi-dark. I struck out in reflex and killed him. That’s all, I swear!”

“Member of the crew, was it?”

“How should I know?”

“Not a cabin boy, perhaps? A… child? That would upset even a stone-cold killer like Joji.”

It would. If that had been the case, he was sure he’d have gone to pieces much the same way as he had this morning. Only that wasn’t the reason.

“No child. An old guy, with a white wig…” _Hennessey, he’d said his name was. Admiral Hennessey…_

Gates shrugged. “Collateral damage, then.”

“Hmm.”

“So if that wasn’t why I found you wailing like a babe this morning, what is?”

Billy slammed his hands flat on the table. “Damn it, Hal, I can’t tell you!” He looked at the older man, contrite about his outburst. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal. Well, it _is_ personal. Very personal, even, but it has nothing to do with you. I can’t trust _anyone_ with this! I wouldn’t even trust _myself_ with this! But here I am.” He sat back, defeated. “Here I am…”

“Indeed, there you are.”

Billy froze, every muscle tense, while Gates turned in mild annoyance as their captain came up the stairs to the secluded room.

“The men told me a dust devil left you blinded,” Flint said to Billy as he reached the last step. “Glad to see the damage doesn’t seem to be… permanent.”

Billy nodded, a silent acknowledgement when his tongue failed to come up with something better. _He knows! He knows the sand was an excuse._

“What can we do for you, captain?” said Gates. While ever courteous, his body language and tone made it clear that Flint was intruding. The captain noticed, but ignored it and sauntered past him.

“I heard of Billy’s misfortune and wanted to make sure he was all right.”

 _Not true_ , the subject of his concern thought. Not entirely a lie, either. Flint was so difficult to read.

“He is fine,” Gates said. “Or rather, he will be soon enough. If you have need of me, I’ll join you downstairs in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, but I’m here for Billy.”

“He’s just—“

“I know,” Flint interrupted. “There was something I wanted to discuss even before this little mishap came up. So if you don’t mind giving us the room?” Where there had been some form of concern on his face before, he was now all business and glares.

_I’m so, so screwed…_

Fortunately, Mr Gates was in no mood to be brushed off.

“We were in the middle of a rather important conversation, captain. Begging your pardon, but I don’t think now’s the time to—“

“It’s just a yes-or-no question,” said Flint in a deceptively laconic tone of voice as he turned to Billy. “All I want to know is: did that man you killed in the hold of the prize ship say anything to you before he died?”

Gates began to protest, but suddenly stopped. “Billy? Are you all right, son?”

He wasn’t. His legs had buckled and despite already sitting down, he slumped. His head felt like it would fly away. This was the one thing he had feared above all. _Just lie_ , his mind screamed. _Just tell him ‘no’ and it will all go away_. But that wasn’t how Flint worked. The very fact that the captain asked this question – that he had taken the trouble of seeking Billy out to ask it – meant that he knew. _A passenger list in the ship’s log, most like._ In the wake of that realisation, the world came back to him and dumped a sickening weight in his stomach.

“Billy? Take a deep breath, lad. Easy now.” Then: “He’s not up to answering questions right now! Just give him some time.”

“He is perfectly capable of answering,” said Flint. “He knows what I’m talking about, or he wouldn’t be on the verge of fainting.”

A sharp flick to his cheek brought him back all the way and found him gazing straight into the piercing green eyes he’d fantasized about last night.

“It was an old man, wasn’t it?” Flint demanded, leaning across the table. “Military mannerism. Navy, to be precise.”

Still stunned, Billy nodded. “A–an admiral.”

A dangerous growl. “Let us have the room, Mr Gates. Now!”

“I’m not going to let you tear into him, captain. You can forget about that!”

“What are you so fucking worried about? He’s done nothing wrong, now has he?”

“…I killed him?”

“Exactly,” said Flint with grim satisfaction. “And I need to know what the bastard said before he died.”

“Jesus, captain! The boy’s had a very hard morning. Whatever it is you wish to interrogate him about, I tell you it can wait! It will _have_ to wait!”

“It’s okay, Hal,” Billy interjected before the argument could escalate. “It’s… Look, the captain’s right. You don’t want to stay around for this.”

“Why not?” The old quartermaster frowned. “Billy, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” The force of his own voice surprised him. “I did nothing. At least, I didn’t do it soon enough.”

The pressure from the other side of the table relented, if only a fraction. The captain’s anger was still tangible, like a bell of heat that surrounded him, but he didn’t speak. He wouldn’t, not with the replies being what they were. And they both knew. An awkward and painful conversation at best, but impossible with Mr Gates listening in.

However, silence wasn’t an option, either.

“When I found him hiding in the hold, I urged him to make his way to the deck,” Billy began, just to break the impasse. “He refused. Said he wouldn’t submit to the likes of Captain Flint.”

The captain glared at him, visibly torn between telling Billy to shut up and wanting to know what came next. Billy paused a moment to collect his thoughts. At some point he’d have to give his captain what he had asked for, only now he’d have to do it without divulging what no one should ever have heard.

“I pulled him to his feet, but he took out a knife. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of gutting him, the way you had the passengers of the _Maria Alleyne_ , he said.”

Mr Gates glanced at the captain. “The _Maria Alleyne_?”

“Rumours travel fast in London,” said Flint, oddly impassive. “He would have learned that it was my flag that day.” Green eyes bored into Billy’s. “What else?”

“He, ehm, proceeded to describe his hatred for you. Vividly. Said you should have been hanged long before you became a pirate. To remedy that, he said, he was on his way to meet Lord Ashe in Charlestown, to mount a manhunt.” He bit his lip. “For you. Just you.”

“Ashe?” Flint’s eyes widened briefly before he had bared his teeth in a vicious snarl. “What. Else?”

Billy swallowed hard and glanced at Gates, shaking his head and begging his mentor to go. But Gates, steadfast as always, folded his arms and didn’t budge.

_I’m so, so very screwed!_

“Then he asked me—“ No, he couldn’t. It hurt to think of what else that man had said. The words he’d used. Billy had sworn to himself never to repeat them, and most certainly not to his captain’s face.

“Billy,” Flint growled, more a threat than an encouragement. A threat Billy had to answer.

“He asked me if I knew what kind of man my captain was,” he said through gritted teeth. “After which he told me.”

The captain’s expression went still.

“I killed him then,” said Billy. “Not soon enough, but before he could spew his venom on anyone else. Before he could—I mean, no one needs to know you were exiled for—“ _Fuck!_ “—for your political convictions!”

Flint’s gaze struck him with lightning speed. “ _Political_ convictions?”

Billy silently thanked his frantic mind for that spin. “Yeah. Whatever other rumours they spread were just a pretext to silence your friends and yourself, right? A bit like how I was pressganged for my parents’ convictions as Levellers.” He lowered his head. “Only my story didn’t involve anyone dying in prison…”

At the sound of Flint stifling a gasp, Billy bit his tongue and stared at the table. He’d said too much already. Flint would understand much more than Mr Gates had heard, and was no doubt now deciding whether or not his boatswain would live to see the sunset.

Why had he been honest about what he knew? It was dangerous! Yet the thought of lying to his captain… Somehow, the idea of disappointing this man hurt far worse than whatever Flint would inflict to safeguard this secret.

Which brought him right back to his original problem and the conclusion he had arrived at.

“I’ll leave the ship,” he said without looking up. “If you’ll just permit me to get my chest, I’ll be gone tonight.”

“What? Out of the question, lad!”

“I’m sorry, Hal. There’s just no other way.”

“Was that why you—? This morning?”

“I suppose so.” A white lie, although not untrue. “Look, it’s the only solution that makes any sense. I can’t stay. Not anymore. Not after… Well…”

“Learning of my political convictions?” drawled Flint.

Billy’s heart ached at the unmasked derision.

“This has got nothing to do with that, sir. I promise. You’re the most dauntless and most terrifying captain in the New World. Whatever this man said doesn’t change that fact, or how I see you or the men or the ship.”

“Then why in blazes are you even thinking about leaving?” Gates blurted. “You have a life here. A family!” He grabbed Billy by the shoulders. “You can’t just throw all that away because of a few confusing days?”

He covered his mentor’s hand with his own. “It’s not days. Years, more like. It’s always been there, ever since I came aboard the _Walrus_.”

“What has always been there?”

Billy shrugged one shoulder. “Something about me. Who I am. What I am. It was never a problem before, but now…” He glanced at Flint. The captain’s expression was unreadable, but all the same Billy’s chest felt too tight and his face grew hot. Flint raised a brow and scoffed.

“This will require more than one bottle to resolve. Mr Gates, would you be so kind to fetch another one? And proper mugs?”

Gates looked at Billy, but seemed to decide that indeed more alcohol was in order. “All right. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t you be going anywhere, lad.”

While the old quartermaster disappeared to the tavern below, Flint pulled up his vacated seat and sat down.

“So, what changed that makes it so unbearable all of a sudden?”

Without meaning to, Billy met his captain’s gaze, and understood the question. Truly understood.

“It’s not the things the admiral said, I swear.” He sighed. “Jesus, I’ve never heard so much bog in my life!”

Flint snorted. “I can imagine Hennessy had some choice words for me.” He leaned back. “But if that isn’t the issue, what is?”

Billy licked his lips, fighting back more tears. “I’ve been wrecking my mind all morning trying to figure that out.” Losing the fight, he cradled his head in his hands. “I suppose… I suppose it’s a bit like treasure,” he tried. “When you know of a piece of eight that you can never have, you’re content with all the silver dollars you can get.”

The look on Flint’s face said he was of a different mind, but he didn’t argue.

“Everything’s just fine, and then one day someone puts that piece of eight right in front of you. Right under your nose.” Billy gazed at his captain, wide-eyed despite the drops clinging to his lashes. “Only you _still_ can’t have it, can you? Take it, and your whole world goes to hell in a handbasket! But still that piece of eight is there. Always, every day, staring you in the face.” He shook his head. “I’m not that strong, captain. I don’t want to have to be that strong…”

“I see.” Flint pursed his lips, fingers drumming on the table in thought. “Well, you’re a pirate, aren’t you? You could take what you want and everyone be damned.” He smirked. “That piece of eight certainly won’t mind.”

Billy felt his face flush. He wasn’t hearing this, right?

“But I should warn you,” Flint continued, deadly serious again, “that the danger inherent to taking what you want is certainly real. So is the cost if – when – your world eventually does come crashing down.”

The pensive frown on the captain’s brow spelled out just how high that cost would be. How high it had been in the past. But after years of watching this man and never approaching, Billy was all too aware of the price for playing safe.

“Was it worth it?” he whispered. “The pain? Is it worth—?”

To his surprise, Flint smiled. A careful but genuine smile that made him seem like another person. “I’d say it is, but that is for each man to decide for himself.”

“And the crash, is that inevitable?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Bright green eyes met Billy’s. “Question is, are you willing to take the risk?”

  


End file.
